So something I love about Monhegan Island is that even though, relatively speaking, connectivity to the outside world has gotten stronger in the years since I first started coming here, IT IS STILL REALLY REALLY HARD to make calls and play on the internet. This is a GREAT thing. It’s like forced relaxation if you can make yourself just surrender and accept that you’re here to knit and watch the birds and eat the snacks and breathe and just ENJOY THE AWESOMENESS.
On the other hand, given that one of my main jobs is to be Official Blogger for our rowdy bunch, I confess I do spend some time up in my writing garret on the top floor of the Monhegan House (think of me as a punk rock Jo from Little Women) cussing at how long it takes to upload the words and pictures necessary to present you with the artistic masterpiece that is my take on our time here.
I’ve decided this year to try to stop cussing. Yes, that's right, I am going to LET GO and LET HOLDEN. Yesterday I just posted a whole bunch of pictures, which only took about six hours to upload and which, if you buy the notion that each equals a thousand words, I just hit you with half of a book. Today I will give you half as many pictures and offer up some written highlights. Fasten your hand knitted seatbelts. This is going to be good.
We arrived on Sunday night after smooth sailing (technically not sailing, but whatever) across the sea from Port Clyde to Monhegan Island. Because we apparently have amassed a tremendous amount of cumulative karma amongst ourselves, the gods rewarded us on the ride over with an amazing show of dolphins. Or porpoises. Whatever they were, they were beautiful and jumping out of the water and it was SO GREAT!
Then Holden met us at the dock. I like to call him B. Holden because a) we are immediately Beholden His Lovely Mug and b) very quickly he be holdin’ our luggage and loading it on the truck so we need only lug our shapely buttocks up the slight but nonetheless challenging hill to Monhegan House.
Once up the hill and across the porch and into the parlour, and having received our room assignments and teased B. Holden just the right amount, it was up the stairs to our wonderful little rooms to get settled in. Or, if you were (are) me, it was up the stairs. Then up some more stairs. Then up even more stairs. Which I love, because I can rationalize this workout balances out the fact I always eat my weight times six in whoopie pies on this retreat.
Because Holden never wants us to feel weak, once we came back downstairs, he first fed us treats on the porch whilst Lisa gave us a rundown of what was in store, and whilst all of y’all sat down in those white rockers like you were born to sit in them, and knitted away. Well done gang! And then, it was off to dinner, immediately on the heels of snack time, this to sort of warm up our bodies to the idea that when we are on the island, we will eat. And we will eat some more. And then, that’s right, we will eat yet again.
I LOVE IT HERE.
And so now here I sit, on Tuesday night, up in my punk rock Little Women garret, not cussing, just breathing, surrendering, and visualizing tomorrow's menu. Enough has already happened that I could go on forever. But then I would miss evening knitting in the parlour by the fire, and possibly leftover pumpkin whoopies from earlier in the day. So I think I will just wrap it up with a few bullet points for now:
1. I LOVE THAT ALL Y’ALL ARE COMING TO YOGA! And thanks, Melora, for making it the right balance of ouch and ahhhhhh….
2. I AM SO PUMPED we are making Pi Shawls. THANK YOU SUSAN!
3. I LOVE SWANS ISLAND YARN! (well there was that tangling episode but still…)
4. I LOVED BOB’S TALK about the history of the island.
Okay, forgive me for cutting it short, but people I NEED TO KNIT! Here, look at these amazing pictures. Oh yeah—I need to give Birdman Brian a shout out, too. Who knew ducks had such, um, shocking mating habits? And who knew I would be converted (sort of) to a birder after all these years? No really, THAT was fun. I SAW AN EAGLE!!! He was BALD! I’m going to go make him a hat.
See ya in the parlour,